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Dorothy Q 
By Oliver Wendell Holmes 
JVith Illustrations by 
Howard Pyle 





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Dorothy Q 

Together with 

A Ballad of the Boston Tea Party 

& 

Grandmother’s Story of Bunker Hill Battle 
By Oliver Wendell Holmes 
IVith Illustrations by 
Howard Pyle 



Cambridge 

Printeti at KberstUe J3re6fi; 

M DCCC XCIII 


NOV 1 1892 







Copyright, 1874 and 1875 
by Oliver Wendell Holmes 
Copyright, 1892, by 
Houghton, Mifflin & Com¬ 
pany. All rights reserved 



ID^unbreO anb 
€opie0 PrintEb 


J^umber. 











OROTHY Quincy, the s^ibject of the 
first poem in this volume, was aiint 
of the first Josiah Quincy, Junior, 
“ that fej'vid orator who expended 
his life for the cause of his country, dying on ship¬ 
board in sight of home, as he returned from Eng¬ 
land after hostilities had begun only seve7i daysl’’ 
She was also the aimt of a second Dorothy Quincy, 
who becaifte the wife of Jolm Haiicock, President 
of the first Cofitmental Co7igress. 

The pamtmg hu7ig m the house of 77iy gra7id- 
father, Oliver We7idell, which was occupied by 
British opficers before the evacuatio7i of Bosto7i. 
07ie of these ge7itle77ie7t a77i7ised hi 77 is elf by stabbmg 
poor Dorothy {the pictured one) as 7iear the 7‘ight 
eye as his swords7na7iship would serve hwi to do 
it. The ca7ivas was so decayed that it becaiiie 7ieces- 
sary to re7nount the pamtmg, m the process of 
5 



doing which the hole made by the rapier was lost 
sight of. I took so?ne photographs of the picUire 
before it was transferred to the new canvas. 

The tax on tea., which was co7tsidered so odious 
and led to the act on which A Ballad of the Bostoii 
Tea Party is founded., was but a S7nall 77iatter^ 
07ily two pe7ice hi the poimd. But it mvolved a 
pri7icipie of taxatio7i, to which the Colo7iies would 
7iot sub77iit. Their objectio7i was 7iot to the a}7iou7it., 
but the clai77i. The East Bidia Co77ipa7iy^ however., 
sent out a 7iu77iber of tea-ships to different Ainer- 
ica7t ports, three of the7n to Bosto7i. 

The i7ihabita7its tried to se7id theiii back, but in 
vahi. The captahis of the ships had co7ise7ited, if 
Per77iitted, to retur7i with their cargoes to E7tgla7id, 
but the co7isig7iees refused to discharge the7n f7'077i 
their obligatio7is, the custo77i house to give the7n a 
cleara7ice for their 7'etur7i, a7id the gover7ior to 
gra7it the77i a passport for gohig by the fort. It 
was easily see7i that the tea would be gradually 
la7ided from the ships lymg so 7iear the tow7i, a7id 
that if laiided it would be disposed of, a7id the 
purpose of establishmg the 77io7iopoly a7id raismg 
a reve7iue effected. To preve7it the dreaded co7ise- 
quence, a iiiunber of ar77ied 7ne7i, disguised like 
I7idia7is, boarded the ships a7id threw their whole 
ca7goes of tea mto the dock. About seve7itee7i per- 
so7ts boarded the ships hi Boston harbor, and 
emptied three hundred and forty-two chests of tea. ^ 
Among these Iiidians'’' was Major Thoinas Mel- 

^ Holmes’s Annals of America, vol. ii. pp. 181-2. 

6 


ville^ the sa7ne who sjcggested to fne the poem^ 
“ The Last LeafT 

The story of Bimker Hill battle is told as liter¬ 
ally ht accordance with the best authorities as it 
wotild have been if it had bee7i writte7i hi prose 
i7istead of hi verse. I have ofteii been asked what 
steeple it was froin which the little group I speak 
of looked upon the conflict. To this I aiiswer that 
I a77i 7iot prepared to speak authoritativelybut 
that the reader 77iay take his choice ainoiig all the 
steeples staiidhig at that thne hi the 7iorther7i part 
of the city. Christ Church in Salein Street is the 
one I always thhik of but I do not insist upon its 
clahii. As to the personages who iiiade up the 
S77iall coinpany that followed the old corporal, it 
would be hard to ideiitify theiii, but by ascertahihig 
where the poidrait by Copley is 7iow to be foimd, 
so77ie light 77iay be thrown on their persoiiality. 

Daiiiel Malcohn^s gravestone, splhitered by Brit¬ 
ish bullets, 77iay be seeii in the Copp^s Hill burial- 
ground. 


O. W. H. 


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“S '•^' 

ILLUSTRATIONS 


LIST or 




<J '"I 


DOROTHY Q. , 

Portrait of Dorothy Q., from a painting in the pos¬ 


session of Dr. Holmes . . Frontispiece. 

Half Title.13 

Painting the Picture.14 

“ Girlish bust, but womanly air ” . . . *15 

“ Hint and promise of stately mien ” . . . 17 

“ The youthful sire ”.18 

“ Soft is the breath of a maiden’s Yes ” . . . 21 

“ Lady and lover ”.22 

A BALLAD OF THE BOSTON TEA-PARTY 

“ The Boston teapot bubbled ”... .26 

Half Title.. . .27 

A cup of Tea.28 

“ Many a six-foot grenadier 

The flattened grass had measured ” . . -31 

“ Her tearful memories treasured ” ... 32 

“ Behold the guests advancing ” . . . *35 

“ The lively barber ”.36 

“ The truant tapster ”.39 

“ The coopers boys ”.40 


9 



“ The lusty young Fort-Hillers ” . . . . 

“ The Tories seize the omen ” .... 

“ The Mohawk band is swarming ” . . . . 

“ So gracious, sweet, and purring ” ... 

“ The quiet dame ”. 

An Old North-Ender. 

GRANDMOTHER’S STORY OF BUNKER-HILL 
BATTLE 

Watching the Battle from the Steeple 

Half Title. 

The Grandmother. 

“ Lord Percy’s hunted soldiers ” . . 

“ Says grandma ‘ What’s the matter ? ’ ” . 

“ The Mohawks killed her father ” . 

“ ‘ Don’t you fret and worry any ’ ” . 

“ Down my hair went as I hurried ”... 

“ The Corporal marched before ” . . . . 

“ We climbed the creaking stair ” . 

“ The earthwork hid them from us ” . 

“ The cannons’ deafening thrill ” . 

“ Like a gentleman of leisure ”. 

“ The belted grenadiers ” ..... 

“ The barges gliding onward ”. 

“ Again they formed in order ” .... 

“ They wait and answer not ”. 

“ The Corporal, our old cripple ” . . . . 

Dan’l Malcolm’s Grave. 

“ In the hush of expectation ” .... 

“ Like a thunder-cloud it breaks ” . . . . 

“ A headlong crowd is flying ” .... 

“ ‘ Are they beaten ? ’ ”. 


43 

44 

47 

48 

51 

52 

56 

57 

5S 

61 

62 

65 

66 

69 

70 

73 

74 

77 

78 

81 

82 

85 

86 

89 

90 

93 

94 

97 

98 


10 



“ They are baffled, not defeated ” . 

“ The roofs of Charlestown blazing ” 

“ We can see each massive column ” 

“ The ominous calm is broken ” 

“ The frightened braves of Howe ” 

“ We looked, poor timid creatures ” . 
‘‘ ‘ Have a drop of old Jamaiky ’ ” . 

“ They were creeping round to four ” 

“ In close array they come ” . 

“ They surged above the breast-work ” 
“ They say I fainted ” . 

“ ‘ Here’s a soldier bleeding ’ ” . 

“ Brought him from the battle ” 

“ I saw his eyes were blue ” 

“ We came to know each other ” . 

“ His picture Copley painted ” . 


101 

102 

105 

106 
109 
no 

“3 

114 

117 

118 

121 

122 

125 

126 

129 

130 











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Dorothy Q. 


Grandmother’s mother: her age, I 
guess, 

Thirteen summers, or something less; 
Girlish bust, but womanly air; 
Smooth, square forehead, with up- 
rolled hair. 

Lips that lover has never kissed; 

Taper fingers and slender wrist; 
Hanging sleeves of stiff brocade; 

So they painted the little maid. 






On her hand a parrot green 
Sits unmoving and broods serene. 
Hold up the canvas full in view, — 
Look! there’s a rent the light shines 
through, 

Dark with a century’s fringe of 
dust, — 

That was a Red-Coat’s rapier thrust! 
Such is the tale the lady old, 
Dorothy’s daughter’s daughter, told. 

Who the painter was none may tell, — 
One whose best was not over well; 
Hard and dry, it must be confessed. 
Flat as a rose that has long been 
pressed; 

Yet in her cheek the hues are bright. 
Dainty colors of red and white. 

And in her slender shape are seen 
Hint and promise of stately mien. 



t 


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Look not on her with eyes of scorn, — 

Dorothy Q. was a lady born! 

Ay! since the galloping Normans 
came, 

England’s annals have known her 
name. 

And still to the three-hilled rebel 
town 

Dear is that ancient name’s renown. 

For many a civic wreath they won. 

The youthful sire and the gray-haired 
son. 


O Damsel Dorothy! Dorothy Q. 1 
Strange is the gift that I owe to you; 
Such a gift as never a king 
Save to daughter or son might 
bring,— 

All my tenure of heart and hand. 

All my title to house and land; 

19 




]\Iother and sister and child and wife 

And joy and sorrow and death and 
life! 

What if a hundred years ago 

Those close-shut lips had answered 
No, 

When forth the tremulous question 
came 

That cost the maiden her Norman 
name, 

And under the folds that look so still 

The bodice swelled with the bosom’s 
thrill ? 

Should I be I, or would it be 

One tenth another, to nine tenths 
me? 

Soft is the breath of a maiden’s Yes : 

Not the light gossamer stirs with 
less: 






V 



But never a cable that holds so fast 
Through all the battles of wave and 
blast, 

And never an echo of speech or song 
That lives in the babbling air so long! 
There were tones in the voice that 
whispered then 

You may hear to-day in a hundred 
men. 

O lady and lover, how faint and far 
Your images hover, — and here we 
are. 

Solid and stirring in flesh and bone,— 
Edward’s and Dorothy’s—all their 
own, — 

A goodly record for Time to show 
Of a syllable spoken so long ago ! — 
Shall I bless you, Dorothy, or forgive 
For the tender whisper that bade me 
live 1 


It shall be a blessing, my little maid! 

I will heal the stab of the Red-Coat’s 
blade, 

And freshen the gold of the tarnished 
frame. 

And gild with a rhyme your household 
name; 

So you shall smile on us brave and 
bright 

As first you greeted the morning’s 
light. 

And live untroubled by woes and 
fears 

Through a second youth of a hundred 
years. 

24 







4 




















BALLAD 

oj the 

BOSTON 

TEA-PARTY 



I 


. • • r, 



BALLAD 

of {he 

BOSTON TEA-PARTY 


No! never such a draught was poured 
Since Hebe served with nectar 
The bright Olympians and their Lord, 
Her over-kind protector, — 

Since Father Noah squeezed the 
grape 

And took to such behaving 
As would have shamed our grandsire 
ape 

Before the days of shaving, — 

No ! ne’er was mingled such a draught 
In palace, hall, or arbor. 

As freemen brewed and tyrants 
quaffed 

That night in Boston Harbor! 

29 




It kept King George so long awake, 
His brain at last got addled, 

It made the nerves of Britain shake. 
With sevenscore millions saddled ; 
Before that bitter cup was drained. 
Amid the roar of cannon, 

The Western war-cloud’s crimson 
stained 

The Thames, the Clyde, the Shan 
non; 

30 















Full many a six-foot grenadier 

The flattened grass had measured, 
And many a mother many a year 
Her tearful memories treasured ; 
Fast spread the tempest’s darkening 
pall, 

The mighty realms were troubled. 
The storm broke loose, but first of all 
The Boston teapot bubbled! 

33 




An evening party, — only that, 

No formal invitation, 

No gold-laced coat, no stiff cravat, 
No feast in contemplation, 

No silk-robed dames, no fiddling band, 
N o flowers, no songs, no dancing, — 
A tribe of red men, axe in hand, — 
Behold the guests advancing ! 

34 















How fast the stragglers join the 
throng, 

From stall and workshop gathered! 
The lively barber skips along, 

And leaves a chin half-lathered; 

37 




The smith has flung his hammer 
down, — 

The horseshoe still is glowing; 

The truant tapster at the Crown 
Has left a beer-cask flowing; 

38 









































































The cooper’s boys have dropped the 
adze, 

And trot behind their master; 

Up run the tarry ship-yard lads,— 
The crowd is hurrying faster, — 

41 




Out from the Millpond’s purlieus 
gush 

The streams of white-faced millers, 
And down their slippery alleys rush 
The lusty young Fort-Hillers ; 

42 





















The ropewalk lends its ’prentice 
crew, — 

The tories seize the omen : 

“ Ay, boys, you ’ll soon have work to 
do 

For England’s rebel foemen, 

‘ King Hancock,’ Adams, and their 
gang, 

That fire the mob with treason, — 
When these we shoot and those we 
hang. 

The town will come to reason.” 



On — on to where the tea-ships ride ! 

And now their ranks are forming, — 
A rush, and up the Dartmouth’s side 
The Mohawk band is swarming! 
See the fierce natives ! What a glimpse 
Of paint and fur and feather. 

As all at once the full-grown imps 
Light on the deck together! 

A scarf the pigtail’s secret keeps, 

A blanket hides the breeches,— 
And out the cursed cargo leaps. 

And overboard it pitches! 

46 














































































O woman, at the evening board 
So gracious, sweet, and purring, 

So happy while the tea is poured. 

So blest while spoons are stirring. 
What martyr can compare with thee, 
The mother, wife, or daughter. 
That night, instead of best Bohea, 
Condemned to milk and water! 

49 




Ah, little dreams the quiet dame 
Who plies with rock and spindle 
The patient flax, how great a flame 
Yon little spark shall kindle ! 

The lurid morning shall reveal 
A fire no king can smother. 

Where British flint and Boston steel 
Have flashed against each other! 
Old charters shrivel in its track, 

His Worship’s bench has crumbled, 
It climbs and clasps the union-jack. 
Its blazoned pomp is humbled. 

The flags go down on land and sea 
Like corn before the reapers; 

So burned the fire that brewed the tea 
That Boston served her keepers 1 


50 


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; * 











The waves that wrought a century’s 
wreck 

Have rolled o’er whig and tory ; 
The Mohawks on the Dartmouth’s 
deck 

Still live in song and story; 

The waters in the rebel bay 
Have kept the tea-leaf savor; 

Our old North-Enders in their spray 
Still taste a Hyson flavor; 

And Freedom’s teacup still o’erflows 
With ever fresh libations, 

To cheat of slumber all her foes 
And cheer the wakening nations I 
53 




Here endeth 
A Ballad 
of the 



9 






























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grandmother's story 
»/ ■ 

BUNKER HILL 

BATTLE^ 


’T IS like stirring living embers when, 
at eighty, one remembers 
All the achings and the quakings of 
“the times that tried men’s 
souls; ” 

When I talk of Whig and Tory, 
when I tell the Rebel story. 

To you the words are ashes, but to 
me they ’re burning coals. 

59 



I had heard the muskets’ rattle of the 
April running battle; 

Lord Percy’s hunted soldiers, I can 
see their red coats still; 

But a deadly chill comes o’er me, as 
the day looms up before me. 
When a thousand men lay bleeding 
on the slopes of Bunker’s Hill. 

6o 



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’T was a peaceful summer’s morning, 
when the first thing gave us warn¬ 
ing 

Was the booming of the cannon from 
the river and the shore : 

“ Child,” says grandma, “ what’s the 
matter, what is all this noise and 
clatter ? 

Have those scalping Indian devils 
come to murder us once more ? ” 

63 




Poor old soul! my sides were shaking 
in the midst of all my quaking, 
To hear her talk of Indians when the 
guns began to roar : 

She had seen the burning village, and 
the slaughter and the pillage, 
When the Mohawks killed her father 
with their bullets through his 
door. 

64 



o 










































Then I said, “ Now, dear old granny, 
don’t you fret and worry any. 
For I ’ll soon come back and tell you 
whether this is work or play ; 
There can’t be mischief in it, so I 
won’t be gone a minute ” — 

For a minute then I started. I was 
gone the livelong day. 

67 




No time for bodice-lacing or for look¬ 
ing-glass grimacing; 

Down my hair went as I hurried, 
tumbling half-way to my heels ; 
God forbid your ever knowing, when 
there’s blood around her flowing. 
How the lonely, helpless daughter of 
a quiet household feels ! 

68 




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In the street I heard a thumping; and 
I knew it was the stumping 
Of the Corporal, our old neighbor, on 
that wooden leg he wore, 

With a knot of women round him,— 
it was lucky I had found him. 

So I followed with the others, and the 
Corporal marched before. 

71 




They were making for the steeple,— 
the old soldier and his people; 
The pigeons circled round us as we 
climbed the creaking stair, 

Just across the narrow river — oh, 
so close it made me shiver! — 
Stood a fortress on the hill-top that 
but yesterday was bare. 

72 














































































































I 








Not slow our eyes to find it; well we 
knew who stood behind it, 
Though the earthwork hid them from 
us, and the stubborn walls were 
dumb : 

Here were sister, wife, and mother, 
looking wild upon each other. 
And their lips were white with terror 
as they said. The hour has 

COME ! 

75 



i 




The morning slowly wasted, not a 
morsel had we tasted, 

And our heads were almost splitting 
with the cannons’ deafening thrill. 
When a figure tall and stately round 
the rampart strode sedately ; 

It was Prescott, one since told me; 
he commanded on the hill. 

76 






1 




I 







Every woman’s heart grew bigger 
when we saw his manly figure, 
With the banyan buckled round it, 
standing up so straight and tall; 
Like a gentleman of leisure who is 
strolling out for pleasure. 
Through the storm of shells and can¬ 
non-shot he walked around the 
wall. 

79 




At eleven the streets were swarming, 
for the red-coats’ ranks were 
forming; 

At noon in marching order they were 
moving to the piers ; 

How the bayonets gleamed and glis¬ 
tened, as we looked far down, and 
listened 

To the trampling and the drum-beat 
of the belted grenadiers ! 

So 



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At length the men have started, with 
a cheer (it seemed faint-hearted), 
In their scarlet regimentals, with 
their knapsacks on their backs. 
And the reddening, rippling water, as 
after a sea-fight’s slaughter. 
Round the barges gliding onward 
blushed like blood along their 
tracks. 

83 





So they crossed to the other border, 
and again they formed in order; 
And the boats came back for soldiers, 
came for soldiers, soldiers still: 
The time seemed everlasting to us 
women faint and fasting, — 

At last they ’re moving, marching, 
marching proudly up the hill. 

84 
















We can see the bright steel glancing 
all along the lines advancing — 
N ow the front rank fires a volley — 
they have thrown away their shot; 
For behind their earthwork lying, all 
the balls above them flying, 

Our people need not hurry; so they 
wait and answer not. 

87 







Then the Corporal, our old cripple 
(he would swear sometimes and 
tipple), — 

He had heard the bullets whistle (in 
the old French war) before, — 
Calls out in words of jeering, just as 
if they all were hearing, — 

And his wooden leg thumps fiercely 
on the dusty belfry floor: — 

88 



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“ Oh ! fire away, ye villains, and earn 
King George’s shillin’s. 

But ye ’ll waste a ton of powder afore 
a ‘ rebel ’ falls; 

You may bang the dirt and welcome, 
they’re as safe as Dan’l Mal¬ 
colm 

Ten foot beneath the gravestone that 
you’ve splintered with your 
balls! ” 

91 




In the hush of expectation, in the 
awe and trepidation 
Of the dread approaching moment, 
we are well-nigh breathless all; 
Though the rotten bars are failing on 
the rickety belfry railing, 

We are crowding up against them 
like the waves against a wall. 

92 







































































Just a glimpse (the air is clearer), 
they are nearer, — nearer, — 
nearer. 

When a flash — a curling smoke- 
wreath — then a crash — the 
steeple shakes — 

The deadly truce is ended; the tem¬ 
pest’s shroud is rended; 

Like a morning mist it gathered, 
like a thunder-cloud it breaks ! 




95 



Oh the sight our eyes discover as the 
blue-black smoke blows over ! 
The red-coats stretched in windrows 
as a mower rakes his hay; 

Here a scarlet heap is lying, there a 
headlong crowd is flying 
Like a billow that has broken and is 
shivered into spray. 

96 















Then we cried, “ The troops are 
routed ! they are beat — it can’t 
be doubted! 

God be thanked, the fight is over! ” 
— Ah! the grim old soldier’s 
smile! 

“ Tell us, tell us why you look so ? ” 
(we could hardly speak, we shook 
so), — 

“ Are they beaten } Are they beaten ? 
Are they beaten ? ” — “ Wait a 
while.” 


99 



> ) 


1 

I 



Oh the trembling and the terror! for 
too soon we saw our error: 

They are baffled, not defeated; we 
have driven them back in vain ; 

And the columns that were scattered, 
round the colors that were tat¬ 
tered, 

Toward the sullen, silent fortress turn 
their belted breasts again. 

100 
























All at once, as we are gazing, lo the 
roofs of Charlestown blazing! 

They have fired the harmless village ; 
in an hour it will be down ! 

The Lord in heaven confound them, 
rain his fire and brimstone round 
them, — 

The robbing, murdering red-coats, 
that would burn a peaceful town ! 

103 





They are marching, stern and solemn; 

we can see each massive column 
As they near the naked earth-mound 
with the slanting walls so steep. 
Have our soldiers got faint-hearted, 
and in noiseless haste departed ? 
Are they panic-struck and helpless ? 
Are they palsied or asleep ? 

104 













N ow ! the walls they ’re almost under! 
scarce a rod the foes asunder! 

Not a firelock flashed against them ! 
up the earthwork they will swarm! 

But the words have scarce been spo¬ 
ken, when the ominous calm is 
broken, 

And a bellowing crash has emptied 
all the vengeance of the storm! 

107 




So again, with murderous slaughter, 
pelted backwards to the water. 

Fly Pigot’s running heroes and the 
frightened braves of Howe; 

And we shout, “ At last they ’re done 
for, it’s their barges they have 
run for: 

They are beaten, beaten, beaten ; and 
the battle’s over now! ” 

io8 




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And we looked, poor timid creatures, 
on the rough old soldier’s fea¬ 
tures. 

Our lips afraid to question, but he 
knew what we would ask : 

“ Not sure,” he said ; “keep quiet, — 
once more, I guess, they ’ll try 
it — 

Here’s damnation to the cut-throats ! ” 
— then he handed me his flask, 

III 






Saying, “ Gal, you ’re looking shaky; 

have a drop of old Jamaiky; 

I’m afeard there ’ll be more trouble 
afore the job is done ; ” 

So I took one scorching swallow; 

dreadful faint I felt and hollow. 
Standing there from early morning 
when the firing was begun. 

II2 




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All through those hours of trial I 
had watched a calm clock dial, 
As the hands kept creeping, creeping, 

— they were creeping round to 
four, 

When the old man said, “ They Ve 
forming with their bagonets fixed 
for storming : 

It’s the death-grip that’s a-coming, 

— they will try the works once 
more.” 


IIS 



With brazen trumpets blaring, the 
flames behind them glaring, 

The deadly wall before them, in close 
array they come; 

Still onward, upward toiling, like a 
dragon’s fold uncoiling, — 

Like the rattlesnake’s shrill warning 
the reverberating drum! 

ii6 






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1 









Over heaps all torn and gory — shall 
I tell the fearful story, 

How they surged above the breast¬ 
work, as a sea breaks over a 
deck; 

How, driven, yet scarce defeated, our 
worn-out men retreated. 

With their powder-horns all emptied, 
like the swimmers from a wreck ? 

119 




It has all been told and painted; as 
for me, they say I fainted, 

And the wooden-legged old Corporal 
stumped with me down the stair: 
When I woke from dreams affrighted 
the evening lamps were lighted,— 
On the floor a youth was lying; his 
bleeding breast was bare. 

120 


















































































































And I heard through all the flurry, 
“Send for Warren! hurry! 
hurry! 

Tell him here’s a soldier bleeding, 
and he’ll come and dress his 
wound!” , 

Ah, we knew not till the morrow told 
its tale of death and sorrow. 

How the starlight found him stiffened 
on the dark and bloody ground. 

123 




Who the youth was, what his name 
was, where the place from which 
he came was. 

Who had brought him from the bat¬ 
tle, and had left him at our door. 
He could not speak to tell us; but 
’t was one of our brave fellows. 
As the homespun plainly showed us 
which the dying soldier wore. 

124 






























































For they all thought he was dying, 
as they gathered round him cry¬ 
ing,— 

And they said, “ Oh, how they ’ll miss 
him ! ” and “ What will his 
mother do ? ” 

Then, his eyelids just unclosing like 
a child’s that has been dozing. 

He faintly murmured, “Mother!” 
— and — I saw his eyes were 
blue. 

127 




“ Why, grandma, how you ’re wink¬ 
ing ! ” Ah, my child, it sets me 
thinking 

Of a story not like this one. Well, 
he somehow lived along; 

So we came to know each other, and 
I nursed him like a — mother. 

Till at last he stood before me, tall, 
and rosy-cheeked, and strong. 

128 



































And we sometimes walked together 
in the pleasant summer weather, 
— “ Please to tell us what his name 
was? ” Just your own, my little 
dear, — 

There'’s his picture Copley painted : 

we became so well acquainted. 
That — in short, that’s why I’m 
grandma, and you children all 
are here! ” 

131 




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